“… we hate ourselves.”
Urgh I hate packing. I fully, utterly and completely hate packing. 100%. Hate doing for a holiday (how am I supposed to know if I’ll actually wear that slinky dress when we go out for a meal or if I’ll just continue to wear the same pair of shorts I’ve been wearing all day?) and most definitely hate packing up to move to a new house.
In previous moves it hasn’t been so bad. I’ve still hated it, don’t get me wrong, but as I’ve been in shared houses it’s only been one room to pack up, along with a box or two of kitchen and bathroom things. One room is not fun, but it’s manageable. For my recent move up north, however, CB and I faced the task of packing up our entire flat. I say again – urgh.
What’s worse is we only had a one bedroom flat. What will it be like in future moves? What will it be like when we own actual furniture, not just a bookcase and table? We spent some time before the move sorting through and rationalising our stuff, and we still managed to fill a medium sized van to the brim. I’m not exaggerating:
What you can’t see there is my carefully wrapped boxes of glasses, labelled “fragile” and “very fragile” which CB decided to stack sideways and pile things on. Luckily only one glass was broken from his cavalier attitude to crockery – his nice beer glass we bought in Brugge. I did feel bad for him, but that is karma my friend.
Apart from the actual packing (which is bad enough) I hate the laborious task of packing up the car/van, and even more than that do I hate the inevitable task of unloading said car/van. At least leaving London we could park right outside the flat, but upon arrival we had to unload the van underground, bring it across the car park, up a set of stairs, through three doors (two of which were auto-locking and two of which opened the ‘wrong’ way) into the lift then into the locked flat. It took about an hour to pack the van, and a good two hours to unpack. Honestly, I couldn’t sleep that first night as my biceps hurt so much.
Luckily, I quite enjoy unpacking and I’m very good at organisation. CB had to go to work the next morning, but by the time he had come home at lunch I had pretty much unpacked and sorted everything. At the time of writing this we still have a few things to finesse (for instance the spare bedroom is a bit of a dumping ground, and the bookcase took a bit of a beating so the books are still packed up) but it is a perfectly livable flat, no worse than the average messy home.
I know it was worth it. I know it was. But it was horrific. And as much as I want to own my own home and get off the renting-roundabout, I can’t bear the thought of moving everything back downstairs again let alone into another house!
*Quote from Chuck Palahniuk
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